32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. But you are Annabel. “Don’t you get it, Lucy? I’ve always thought he was an idiot. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others.
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